


Wavelength

by jencsi



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22913161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi
Relationships: Julie "Finn" Finlay/Nick Stokes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Wavelength

In San Diego, they rearranged the furniture in his bedroom one evening, pushing the bed up against the wall that has the window which faces the west and overlooks the ocean. She makes him lay down in the bed first before climbing in and laying her body on top of him, resting on her stomach. They wrap themselves in thin fitted sheet blankets. The air temperature is mid-sixties but falling as the sun sets. All the lights in the room are off.

The window is open, and the curtains pushed aside, they sway back and forth in the breeze and create an allusion that there is a thin canopy attached to the bed. Only the screen separates them from the outside. They could both reach out and touch the screen if they wanted but they don’t. The breeze pushes salty air into the room. She inhales deeply and savors the smell of the water and sand just outside the room. The condo property is private so no one will walk by and see them or spoil their view.

She snuggles into him every few seconds or so, soft, gentle, the way a cat nestles into a comfortable spot. She raises her arm and stretches out towards the window, letting the air flow around her, enveloping them both, soothing them. This is why she loves it here. She feels free, safe, her soul gets to fly. He sees her shiver as the temperature starts to fall and he moves to close the window, but she grabs his arm with her hand, fingers brushing against him in protest, pulling his arm away from the window, begging for a few more minutes of this peace.

The breeze kicks up the scent of the ocean again and mixes it with the tropical shampoo she used this evening, every evening, her usual go to scent. He can’t help but bury his face in her hair and inhale that familiar fruity coconut scent. She let the salty water curl her hair and kept it curly even after her shower, a signature look he missed in recent years when she took to flat ironing it daily. Now it felt like when they first met, how vibrant those curls were, how his fingers purposefully got tangled up in them, how he managed to run his fingers through her hair despite the curls and make her shiver with each pass through her hair.

He’s taking his time, savoring each touch, every shiver, every snuggle she affectionately gives him in response to his touch. He lets his fingers wander and sweep her hair aside, grazing the back of her neck, fluttering over the smooth skin. They work across her shoulders, sneaking under the strap of her tank top to graze over the hidden skin there, a playful move she loves, before he moves on down her shoulder blades, pressing into spots he knows get sore from work and tension and doing cartwheels on the beach. She squirms comfortably at this pressure. She can feel herself going numb, slipping into a relaxed state as his hands travel down her back, pressing here and there on random sensitive spots.

The breeze continues to envelope them, swooping in and out, just like the tingling in her stomach whenever he gets his hands on her like this. She bites her lip, giggling, smitten with how wonderful this feels, from the coolness that surrounds them, to the peace she feels in her heart because he loves her, and she loves him. This is trust at its deepest, intimacy at it’s finest.

Sea gulls screeching echo from the window and into the room. The waves roar and crash up and down the shoreline. They close their eyes to take in the sounds around them, the smell of the salty sea air, of water, moisture, earthy scents. If there is a heaven, she hopes it looks and feels just like this.

In her moment of happiness, when his hands reach her lower back, she shivers intensely, and he smiles, enthralled by her reaction and soothed soul in this moment. She adores this affection and wants more so she turns over, laying on her back but still snuggled against him, arm flung across his chest, silently asking for the usual arm tickles he is so good at spoiling her with. Naturally, his fingers wander to her wrist now, skimming down to her elbow and up to her shoulder. She scrunches her shoulders as the first initial reaction, wiggling, unleashing her pent-up energy, adjusting to the tickles. But she cannot bring herself to lower her arm, she adores the sensation with every ounce of her soul. She uses her willpower to keep her arm across his chest as he moves his fingers up and down, slow, over and over, taking his time to savor her skin, savoring her giggles, finding every ticklish nerve that makes her squirm in delight.

She is too distracted by this affection to feel his other arm slip around her waist. His hand finds her stomach and his fingers flutter there, tickling. She draws her knees up, giggling still, completely at his mercy, floating in this soft space. When she adjusts to that sensation, she lowers her knees, relaxing at last. This is what she craves, this is what makes her see stars, feel butterflies, go weak in the knees, his touch, his love. With one hand, he continues to drag his fingers up and down her arm, the other scribbles playfully on her stomach, light, intoxicating. She reaches down with her right hand and closes her fingers around his wrist, trying to gently pry his hand away from her stomach but his continuing affections only make her melt further and she lets her hand fall to her side, embracing the tickles.

She lets herself fall apart, giggling, squirming, leaning back further in his arms, savoring the way he slows down the speed of his tickling, changing the way his fingers graze her skin, slower now, tender, just like the way he grazes her arm. She adores it when he ceases all tickling to wrap his arms around her tightly and kiss her neck when she stretches to get comfortable again. The covers are a mess, tangled around them, wrinkled, cozy. She stretches again, nuzzling against him, reaching up to touch his cheek with the back of her hand, loving the roughness of his skin from his lack of shaving, absolutely smitten with how she ended up here, wrapped in his embrace, loved deeply.

All these feelings rush over her, and she cannot hide her smile. She turns over to lay on her side, never leaving his embrace, and pushes her forehead against his. Everything around them is disappearing. She cannot focus on anything other than him and how he makes her heart feel. When she gives him Eskimo kisses, she giggles uncontrollably, smitten still. He adores her softness and tightens his arms around her, squeezing her side. Her giggling is melting his heart and soul. He could listen to her all day but he silences her with a kiss, reaching behind him to close the window and fumble clumsily with the curtains, pulling them shut to give them privacy even though his property is far away from prying eyes. They like this security.

He breaks the kiss but she begs in a whisper “do it again” and he obliges, sneaking Eskimo kisses in first making her giggle again through the kiss. Magnificent. When his hand that’s been squeezing her side starts to slip under her shirt, caressing bare skin, she arches forward, reacting to his gentle touch, trying to make herself even closer to him, if that’s possible because they are practically fused together at this point. All this love building up in this space, just from the simple act of rearranging the bedroom furniture. But they don’t need much, just each other, and that cool evening breeze, to set their souls ablaze.


End file.
